Medusa: Surviving the Apocalypse
by glass-jars
Summary: It's 2015. World War III has passed, and most of the planet's population has been destroyed through a combination of biological, atomic, and guerrilla warfare. This is the story of the 20 people (and the soul of an Archangel) survive the fallout in Medusa, Lebanon, Kansas. Neither complete not incomplete. It just is.
1. So it goes

2013:

"Jess! Jessica!"

Sam Winchester held his one-time fiancé—dying a second time as her body destroyed itself from the inside out—close to him, murmuring frantically into her hair. "No, no, no I can't lose you again..."

She squeezed his hand weakly, eyes wide open and afraid but determined. She shook her head minutely.

Sam tried to keep his breathing steady through the confines of his gasmask as he watched her body stiffen and still and drain of life. He pulled her closer and let the tears fall against the glass of his goggles.

The sun set violet and gold through the haze of smoke, illuminating him from behind and casting his shadow across her, and across the myriad bodies collapsed in the dust. Some dead from disease, some from wounds, some from radiation. Others still were being tested for the strains of H-AID and those that tested negative were being bundled into the fold of heavily-covered hunters, angels, vampires, and others. Those who tested positive... Well they'd be dead within the week. They were told to leave and avoid people. Just... go off and die somewhere else.

Even Mrs. Tran. Even Henry Winchester.

The job was to be cold.

Sam clearly couldn't do that, but now it was too late anyway. He tightened his arms briefly around Jessica's body, then let her slide to the dirty asphalt, and stood to rejoin the members of the Medusa community.

Sam watched as the angels and demons—the only ones not covered head to toe in fabric and protection—rolled the corpses into a pile. Doused them in holy oil, salt, gasoline, and set alight with the snap of a spark drifting from Lucifer's blistering fingers.

The blaze lit the night like a second sun.


	2. A town of 20 point 5

p2015: Lebanon, Kansas:/p

p"Fuck! Fuck, shit, damn, bitch!"/p

p"Goddamit, Boy! Get yerself together and stop whining!" Bobby smacked Dean upside the head as he walked past, prying the hammer from his hand. "If ya can't work a goddamn hammer then make yourself useful and help yer angel go over the wards!" He stalked off toward where Jo was fixing a broken table./p

pDean rubbed the back of his head, shooting a sullen glare after Bobby before turning on his heel and heading toward the library. Castiel was sprawled out on his stomach across a bookcase, deep brown wings outstretched to catch the meager sunlight of early spring filtering through a heavily protected skylight, a nearly empty spray can of green paint held lazily in one hand. His forehead was pressed against the wood./p

pDean snorted, hauling himself up onto the ladder by the shelving. "Doesn't really seem like you're doing much to help the wards on the emceiling/em, Cas." He raised an eyebrow, tapped his hand against Castiel's booted ankle./p

pCastiel glowered down at him. "I was." He sat up and pulled his wings in tight against his back. "But the sunlight is pleasant and I felt like resting." He didn't let Dean from his gaze, as he tugged him by the wrist to sit beside him, partially extending one wing back out to wrap around Dean's shoulder like a blanket. The feathers tickled his neck./p

pDean smiled. "Whatever you say, buddy."/p

pThey sat together at least 15 minutes—probably longer—watching the citizens of Medusa—their little settlement of people within the ex-headquarters of the Men of Letters—mill around./p

pTwenty of their original group had survived the combination of bombs, warfare, disease and riots that had wiped out so much of the world's population. As far as the rest of the planet went, they really didn't know how many had been killed. Kansas could be all that was left so far as they knew./p

pTwenty... split into six "Households" to keep track./p

pThe Winchester Household, with Sam and Dean and their parents (both of whom had, thankfully, survived being brought back to life) and Castiel, as well, who refused to live anywhere other than immediately beside Dean./p

pThe Singer-Harvelle Household, where Bobby and Ellen begrudgingly housed Jo and Ash./p

pThe Fitzgerald Household: Garth had somehow managed to keep the wimps and cowards alive, and now they lived with him: Ana, Gabriel, Chuck and Kevin. (Two prophets! Powerless for the most part but still impressive. Chuck seemed none too pleased to be alive again.)/p

pThe Lafitte Household was really just Benny's refrigerator and cot, but Victor slept there out of necessity, since he had nowhere else to go./p

pThey forced Lucifer and Adam/Michael—Adam and Michael were somehow sharing a vessel, and no one ever really knew which was in charge at any given moment—to live in a hut together outside of the Batcave, attached to another hut that held Meg and Crowley, and Crowley's three Hell Hounds. (The HQ was so heavily warded that even after being weakened by H-AID to a nearly human state, the Archangels and Demons still had enough juice left that they couldn't get inside without severe discomfort. Thus, they were forced to live outside. Not that anyone else was bothered by this. Kept the untrustworthy assholes out of everyone's hair.)/p

pDean sighed./p

pBenny was down below at one of the tables, polishing his machete./p

pGabriel was pestering Sam, battering him with his wings, probably teasing him about his need to drink Archangel blood. It was clearly flirtation and irked Dean to no end, but Sam seemed pretty oblivious and just acted annoyed./p

pEveryone milled about and minded their own business for the most part. It was a fairly easygoing community and most people got along alright—not counting the four living outside. Of course, not everyone got along. John basically despised anything remotely non-human including the angels. Needless to say, Benny and John steered far clear from each other. Dean and Gabriel didn't particularly like each other but neither was willing to back down from Sam. Kevin and Ash got along famously, and Jo loved to talk with Garth for some baffling reason./p

pReally, they had gotten off lucky. Medusa was a pathetic little family underground, but there were other settlements nearby that had much less than they had. Medusa had electricity, powerful warding, weapons, books, a kitchen and running water... They were amazingly well off./p

pThe nearest commune was a tiny place called Dustbowl, with ten residents living in hovels and barely surviving./p

pAnd that didn't even bring into account the cities. They stayed away from the city limits and inside—barren ghost towns all that remained of places like Lebanon and Burr Oak and Esbon—not that those had ever really been what Dean would call "cities" though./p

pA few of them had gone out to Beloit and then Concordia, once, decked out in heavy clothing from head to toe. Gas masks and goggles and thick gloves to protect themselves from the poor air and the H-AID virus that could be festering on corpses or on the surfaces of broken down cars, to keep the smoke from their eyes and lungs, to try and feel as though they were somewhat protected from the radiation that no doubt affected the cities./p

pThey'd salvaged some extra vehicles and quite a few motor bikes, stocked up on as much gasoline as would fit in Bobby's truck and Garth's SUV, a fuckload of water filters, and whatever else looked useful./p

pIt had taken four hours./p

p"Get your asses in gear!"/p

pDean flinched, looking down at Ellen with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, ma'am."/p

pShe rolled her eyes at him. "Just finish your job, and then I want help with dinner. Sam insists that no one can make a can of SpaghettiO's like you can!" She winked at him and turned away before he could reply./p

pDean snorted and lowered himself down the ladder. "C'mon Cas." He held his hand out and Castiel pushed it away, opting instead to slide off the bookshelf and flutter to the ground, creating a gust that made Dean close his eyes./p

pDean glared at him and only received a playful smirk./p

pHe grumbled under his breath and followed Castiel to the kitchen./p


	3. Not so bad

December 2013:

"Are you that fucking stupid, Gabriel?!" Anna slammed the door to the newly built panic/quarantine room, whirling to face her brother with venom in her eyes.

Gabriel couldn't answer. Merely clutched at his back as much as he could, clawing at his shoulder blades as he sank to the floor with a whimper. "Shut up..." He pressed his face against the cool concrete. "We thought angels were immune."

Anna rolled her eyes, biting her lip hard. "Yeah?" She sat on the cot. "Well clearly they aren't immune, and now you're gonna give me whatever you have and we're both gonna die or something." She snorted. "Asshole."

Gabriel laughed harshly. "Yeah, I'm such a dick for wanting to see if I could heal someone with H-AID. Sorry if trying to make Samandriel come back was so damn terrible in your eyes, you little bitch." He gasped, then, a little groan hissing out between grit teeth as something flickered around his back.

Anna narrowed her eyes. Normally the disease took a week with no symptoms before suddenly killing the victim. It was some sort of sneaky auto-immune disorder that made a human's body essentially attack itself. When it came to Supernatural beings, it was a little different though. They'd found a werewolf that had caught it, and had no display of symptoms until suddenly it was less of a werewolf and more of a very strong, moderately hairier than-average human. So it seemed it weakened supernatural beings without killing them. They'd thought angels (definitely Archangels) were immune, but that seemed not to be the case. She wondered if this would be similar to Crowley's dogs—they'd been forced to manifest as visible creatures, and were slightly less powerful, but were still violent hounds.

Crowley and Meg had been exposed as well, and hadn't changed at all other than not being able to zap themselves quite as far or escape their vessels for more than a day. Like a powerful witch.

And this whole time the Archangels had been walking completely unprotected. Gabriel, Cas and Anna had kept themselves covered for the most part because they were less powerful—Gabriel's Grace was somewhat diluted by a strange sort of Humanity already and the Trickster bit of him changed his makeup even more. Now that it was clear the angels could be affected, Anna was worrying. There was a high chance that everyone had been exposed to the virus thanks to Lucifer and Michael walking around uncovered, and then Gabriel had tried to expel the sickness from a fellow angel, only to get a raging headache and piercing back pains.

Anna itched absentmindedly at her own back. She closed her eyes. "Shit." She glanced down at Gabriel and was surprised to see him kneeling very still, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. The air at his back shimmered violently, and the outline of wings slowly formed.

"Anael..."

Anna's eyes widened. "Yeah, Gabriel...?"

"I don't think H-AID kills angels."

With a loud rustle, Gabriel's wings materialized more solid than they'd ever been in Heaven. A dusky pink feather, edged in gold, drifted to the floor as he spread them wide—brushing the walls. A 30 foot wingspan at least.

Anna held her breath. Let it go. "Wow." Forced manifestation, like the Hellhounds. And a slight dip in the pressure of his Grace. Still an angel. Weaker. Winged. But still alive and definitely not turned human.

Gabriel smiled up at her with a weak chuckle. "Well that wasn't so bad, huh?"

She shook her head, grinning. She felt much less afraid of the painful itch on her back, now.

In fact, she was somewhat eager to see what her wings would look like.


	4. Strokes

December 2013:

"Holy shit."

Gabriel smirked at Sam. "Agreed." He flexed his wings experimentally, throwing them out wide to brush primary feathers against the wall. His wings were larger than Anna's, and a dusty pinkish clay color, with gilded edges. (Anna's feathers were a vibrant gold blending into a deep red at the tips of her pinions.)

Sam stared as Gabriel folded his wings back in again. There was a strange new comfort to be found in pressing them around himself. Like an extra layer of protection. He raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Pretty damn cool, if I say so myself."

Sam nodded. "Can I...?" He reached his hand out hesitantly, then pulled it back.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "What are you, five?" He shook one wing partially out. "Go ahead."

Sam grinned like a kid with candy, and carded his fingers through Gabriel's feathers carefully. Gabriel smiled at him encouragingly. The sensation of hands on his wings was soothing.

Anna raised her eyebrows, looking maybe a little envious at how relaxed Gabriel seemed.

Gabriel snickered at her.

She flipped him off.

Sam remained oblivious, running his hands continuously over Gabriel's wings—soft and pliant.


	5. Missin' the old days

July 2015:

"Hey."

Dean looked up from where he lay on the hood of the Impala, and smiled up at Benny who deposited a bowl of soup beside him. He sat up straight, taking the bowl in his hands, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers. "Thanks Benny. You wanna join me or somethin'?" He patted the black paint invitingly.

Benny smiled and shook his head. "Nah, Brother. I'm alright."

"Suit yourself." Dean sipped at his soup, and watched Benny make his way back into the Batcave. He hummed Metallica to himself, looked up at the hazy horizon where the sun was just setting—greenish and vibrant.

His surroundings were disturbingly silent—had always been, for the past couple of years. Since the "Grand Rapture" of WWIII.

And when had he taken to calling it the Grand Rapture? It was more of a Gritty Apocalypse, but the others enjoyed jokingly referring to it in such an elegant and distinctly religious way. Though Dean wondered if it was really a rapture when everyone just died and no one seemed to be chosen. Especially seeing as it even affected angels.

There wasn't a damn star in the sky by the time it turned totally dark. The moon was fuzzy and the night was blacker than the Pit, and smelled a little sour—the smell of dead things and smoke and everything bad. He couldn't imagine how decrepitly awful the cities and towns must have smelled. The masks tended to keep that at bay quite a bit.

He swore quiet to himself, wishing for the days when he didn't have to worry if he'd be able to touch another human being. But really they were fuckin' lucky. Had electricity somehow, running water, ventilation. Gabe had zapped up some weird eternal spring or something before he lost his mojo (and everyone thanked the sweet Lord for that every night. Being able to bathe and drink clean water on a regular basis was a blessing).

Dean wished there was a way he could reach out to the sky and pull the haze aside like a curtain, to finally see the constellations again after so long. He remembered a long, long time ago, when everyone was a lot younger and a lot less sad, and he and Sammy had stopped out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, and they'd lain out on the grass with beers and bloodied shirts and just stared up at the Milky Way and the stars wheeling across the night.

Those were the days...

Days when Sammy's hair was short and stupid and his smile was easy to come by.

Back when no one he knew had been through Hell or Purg or anything else and back.

Only thing he had to worry about was keeping his baby brother safe from particularly strong vampires and the occasional demon.

Not all this shit with the diseases and blood addictions and angels and Satan and everything.

"God, I'm tired." Dean set his bowl off to the side, listening to the sound of silence all around him.

Maybe he'd put on a record when he went back inside.

And that made him smile a touch. The world was sucky, but their little village of a group had ransacked all the stores they could find and had come away with at least a hundred different records and CDs and tapes, and some sound systems and radios. They had everything from Lady Gaga discs to old LPs of Johnny Cash and U2. A couple of turntables, several tape decks, a few boom boxes. Every car had a full sound system set up for CDs and tapes and FM and AM. It was probably the only good thing about the apocalypse. Though it was dampened somewhat when Gabriel and Jo managed to blast Ke$ha and Shakira as loud as they could.

Dean always got them back with some deafening Zeppelin or Skynyrd though.

But then Sam would try and mediate, and make them share or something equally childish.

And Dean didn't even wanna think about Lucifer's weird taste in music. When they brought out the industrial speakers on outdoor dinner days—basically a huge barbeque and a time for everyone to bond and get some fresh air and exercise during the warmer days and nights—and everyone was allowed to make requests, he always asked for shit like the Cocteau Twins and Neutral Milk Hotel. Castiel was partial to nothing, and Anna like bubbly pop. Jo liked anything with a beat, and Adam/Michael did not give a flying rat's ass either way as long as he was left mostly alone. Ellen loved Johnny Cash with a passion and Bobby seemed to as well but if anyone ever asked he'd deny it. Gabriel would listen to literally anything but liked livelier stuff best. Ke$ha seemed to be one of his favorites. Though once or twice Dean had caught him singing melancholy Elvis songs under his breath. Benny seemed to love jazz, especially Billie Holiday. John and Mary listened to pretty basic stuff. The "classics" and the like. And of course classic rock. Neither Garth nor Ash ever requested a damn thing, preferring to watch everyone else, and sing along with words they didn't know. Well, Garth did. Ash kinda lingered around and typed away at a laptop that he'd gotten to work with his magical technical prowess. Victor seemed to go for classic stuff as well. And then there was Kevin, who didn't like classic so much as classical. That boy had gotten way into being a pure Honors student. Still liked goddamn cello music. Meg liked, of all things, hair metal and Depeche Mode. Crowley listened to the weirdest obscure bands Dean had never heard of, all acoustics and mild techno underlays and soft vocals. Creeped Dean out a bit when he once found Crowley listening to some song about Icarus. Felt like a threat, almost.

Something else that drove Dean nuts was Sam's sudden love of Lana Del Rey and Imagine Dragons. Fuckin' girl. It was better than what they played on soft rock stations though.

And Chuck apparently didn't listen to music like... ever.

Dean sighed heavily. Why was he thinking about the musical tastes of all who lived in Medusa? Was he that bored?

He stood with a stretch, and grabbed his empty bowl as he headed back inside, shouting at Bobby to turn on something loud and rebellious.


	6. A running start

Early January 2014:

Since all of the angels had manifested their wings, things had been a bit... Well everyone was a bitch lately. At least that's how it seemed to Jo.

Castiel had been sulking off in the shadows, which tended to make Dean pretty irritable. Gabriel ran his stupid mouth off even more constantly than before and complained about anything remotely inconvenient and nearly threw a temper tantrum when Sam accidentally stepped on one of his wings. (Bless that beast's oversized frame, but damn if he wasn't a klutz.) This had somehow led to Gabriel batting Sam in the face with his wings whenever he felt like it, which led to Sam being in a really pissy mood.

Ana snapped at people a bit more but she was surprisingly alright. Maybe, since she'd experienced falling before, she was alright with this. Better in comparison.

Jo did not even bother to see how Lucifer and Michael (Adam? Never quite understood that bit) were doing. She didn't really feel like dealing with those two... beings.

The main issue with the angels bitching about, though, was that they didn't know how to use their wings so they had to hitch rides on the backs of motorbikes and truck beds now. Apparently, and Jo could've told any one of them this, there was a huge difference between warping the universe around yourself (like a goddamn starship) and using flesh-and-blood appendages to lift you up.

They'd been practicing somewhat but none of 'em really had the hang of it yet.

Luckily Jo had Ana, since they were both girls and blah blah blah. Long story short, she was just glad she didn't have to deal with Gabe. Or the other Archangels. Felt bad for Garth having to teach those creepy sons of bitches how to flap right.

Anyhow.

Today they were doing some more practice—Jo cheering halfheartedly with a couple of books on birds laying nearby, a boom box playing some top 25 CD, sun shining weak and greenish through the thick haze above. She didn't have to wear a gasmask out here but she _did_ need a surgical mask. Air was technically breathable but a strange kinda thick, and she didn't wanna end up dying of cancer or something.

She sighed. "Good job Ana!" Weakly threw her fist in the air. Ana smiled at her, somewhat pleased with herself. She'd managed to get like... two inches off the ground. For a coupla minutes too. But that really wasn't great transport. Jo flipped through her book and found a page on falcons and a section on birds that were fast and small. She glanced over it briefly, and lingered on the picture of a duck hawk. The long, narrow, bow-shaped wings meant for fast flight. She looked up with a realization. Castiel and Ana had wings like that—completely different from Gabe's wings, which were huge and wide and slotted like an eagle's.

So clearly the lower angels were meant for speed and not soaring. "Hey, An, c'mere." Jo flapped her hand at Ana. "Look at this." She pressed the book into Ana's hands, and pointed to the falcon's picture, and the diagram explaining wing types. They flipped around through the book and found a section on aerial locomotion based on wing shape and size.

From what Jo could tell, the shape of Ana's wings was like a falcon's wings, but with a higher aspect ratio which meant they were a _lot_ longer than they were wide, and were best for high speed flight and some intense gliding, like an albatross. Whereas the Archangels' wings had a somewhat lower ratio so they were broad and long, with slotted pinions, and were well suited for soaring for long distances. In birds, for the most part, these wing types required slightly different takeoffs—either type would allow flight from a drop-off but it seemed falcons could get into the air pretty easily from the ground, albatross required long running starts, and eagles also needed a ledge, or a good headwind to pull them into the air, due to the shape and size of their wings.

Since all of the angels had relatively large wings, it seemed likely that they would all need to jump from some kind of height to get airborne, especially considering how much denser they were than birds.

Theoretically, if Ana leapt from somewhere higher up instead of trying to jump straight into the air, it would be a lot easier for her to get flying. A running start wouldn't work as well due to the length of her wings, unless she was running on a wall or something, but she could possibly get into a glide if she were able to run and then jump off of something high off of the ground.

Or if she hitched a ride on a moving object and jumped off that.

"Hey, I've got an idea..."

Jo explained her idea.

Ana agreed.

So there they were—Jo speeding down the highway on her Yamaha, her braid trailing out from underneath her helmet, with Ana clinging to her back as she angled her wings experimentally. They approached the part of the road that started to turn down—a steep hill—and as Jo throttled forward, Anael's fingers loosened just barely on her shoulders.

Ana snapped her wings open just as the road dropped down in a sharp decline, and she was gliding. She flapped tentatively and nearly flipped over but after a few seconds of awkward wriggling and maneuvering she had figured out how to stay relatively straight and airborne, using her legs to help steer instead of dangling them strangely, pulling her arms in close and tucking them against her stomach. She fluttered curiously up higher, and found herself turning into an updraft, spiraling higher. She pulled free and swept down somewhat. She was already growing tired—using muscles she hadn't used before and expending a great deal of energy. She reached up to make sure her helmet was on straight, then looked down and made her move.

Diving was absolutely terrifying.

But exhilarating.

The wind battered at her clothes and any bare skin it could find, and the stomach lurched when she flicked her wings out to slow her descent and then spread them wide when that didn't work, and through a back-and-forth closing-and-opening of her wings she got lower and lower to the ground, and when she was near enough she just let her wings snap shut and tumbled to the dirt, knees shaky.

Ana tossed her helmet to the ground, watching its slick black get obscured by thick dust, as she sank to sit beside the highway, heart beating fast.

Jo ran up with a whoop. "That was amazing An!" She tackled Anael to her back on the dry ground with a breathless laugh. "I've never seen anything like that!"

"And I've never felt anything like it." Ana's unsteady giggle made Jo climb off her and pull her to stand. Ana smiled at Jo. "I never want to do that again, but at the same time I do." Her eyes wide, she gestured extravagantly at the sky, raising her eyebrows. "I thought I was gonna die but it was... It was... Wow! You know?"

Jo nodded with a grin. "Not really!" She hugged Ana again, with a hard thump on the back, and pulled her back to the dirt bike, grabbing her helmet on the way. She pressed the helmet into Ana's hands and asked, "Was it difficult?"

Climbing onto the bike behind Jo, Ana said, "My back is screaming but once I got the hang of it, it came kind of naturally..." She shoved her helmet back on, and wrapped her arms loosely around Jo's waist, making sure her wings were tucked in as tight as possible as Jo started up the bike.

Jo looked back at her, and even though her face was obscured behind the shield of her helmet, Ana knew she was grinning like a loon.

Ana held tight as the raced up the roads and back to their dusty little settlement in Lebanon.


	7. I'm not really like that

August 2013:

"Christ!" Sam felt himself tilt before he was fully aware of his falling, the poorly placed crowbar skidding out from under his boots.

He crashed into the small stack of dead bodies gracelessly, limbs akimbo like a puppet's, his under-secured helmet sliding partially off—dragging his gas mask with it.

The smell of corpses rotting in the late summer heat was nauseating beyond belief, and Sam pulled himself away from them almost as soon as he landed amongst them. He clutched his helmet and mask to his chest, swallowing thickly.

"Sam!"

Sam looked up at the sound of Dean's voice, muffled through his own mask.

Big brother with his eyes blown wide and tinted vibrant by the polluted hazy light.

Sam took in a sharp breath.

He stood hurriedly and backed away from the corpses and away from his brother and the others.

"God, no..." He scraped his palm across his face and back through his hair—tangled from being under a badly fitting helmet for most of the day. "I've been exposed, haven't I...?" The sunlight filtering through the smog felt even hotter than before. Like the fog was superheated and wrapping around to stifle him.

They would just have to wait to see if he died.

He didn't know if he could do that.

"Sammy... It's okay." Dean reached out one gloved and obscured arm in a sort of peace-requesting gesture.

Sam scoffed, shook his head. "No, Dean." He grimaced in that way he had to, when he couldn't believe what was happening or he felt sick like his stomach was full of broken marbles, half a smirk and half a frown. "Those people died from Hades, Dean. Okay? I touched them. I'm screwed." He kept backing up, until his knees brushed against searing metal, and sat heavily on the hood of a twisted red car.

Sam put his head in his hands.

"I'm gonna die."

A long silence wrapped its arms around the group, pulling them tight, muffling their breaths and pulses.

Gabriel stepped forward. (And even though everything was dismal Sam couldn't help but snort at his all-cream colored leather jumpsuit and his golden gasmask. Just for looks, just to be irritating, because the angels seemingly did not need to cover themselves, so his head was uncovered and his hands were bare.)

Sam shook his head at Gabriel. "You look ridiculous."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, and snapped himself to Sam's side. He raised an eyebrow, and pulled the gasmask from his mouth. "Look, kiddo." He smiled just a little.

Sam's mouth twitched up at the side, but he didn't return the smile.

"Me and Luci... We've been doing some experimenting out in the forest." Gabriel tilted his head and his eyes bore down on Sam. "And well... There's something about Archangel blood..." He wiped his hands down the side of his pants thoughtfully, bobbed his head almost as if he was nervous. "You get my drift?"

Sam stared at him for a long time.

To his credit, Gabriel stared right back and didn't even squirm.

Sam frowned.

"You mean like... You," He paused to search for his words very carefully, looking down at a gold zipper on Gabriel's sleeve. "You want me to drink it?" His voice was soft enough that no one present could hear it other than Gabriel. (If any of the non-human members of Medusa had been there, they would have heard. But they were at the Batcave. It was just the Winchester boys, and Bobby, and Garth, and Ellen and Victor. And Gabriel.)

Gabriel didn't respond. He tilted his head forward somewhat and his eyes were deeply serious and the strangest shade of honey-colored Sam had ever seen.

"You're serious." Sam's breath juddered strangely in his chest. His jaw twitched the way it only did when he was emotional or in pain.

Gabe put his hand palm-flat on top of Sam's head, pressing his fingertips into matted hair. "Probably don't wanna tell your bro, huh?" he whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Sam opened his mouth, and closed it. He clenched his hands into fists and nodded sharply. "Okay."

If his voice cracked, Gabriel didn't say anything about it.

Later, acting as natural as possible, Sam met Gabriel and Lucifer behind the tall brick building that topped the Batcave. The sun was setting in a harsh haze of livid mauve and a sickly shade of greenish yellow. Lucifer patted Sam's cheek cheerfully, and murmured against his ear, "You're lucky you're pretty."

Sam grimaced, pulling away. "Gabe?" He shifted uncomfortably. "How exactly are we gonna do this?"

Gabe gave him a broad smirk. "Well you're gonna have to drink either my or Luci's blood." He spread his arms. "So take your pick!" He waggled his eyebrows.

Sam feared he might pass out. He leaned against the crumbling wall behind him. "You don't understand! I don't—" He took a shaky breath. "Ruby was one thing, but I'm not... I'm not like that anymore. Okay?" His eyebrows drew up (adorably concerned, like a puppy) and he scraped the sole of his boot across the gravel underfoot. "I can't just..."

Gabriel grew serious. Lucifer just rolled his eyes behind him, mouthing "melodramatic jackass."

Gabriel jabbed him in the side with a well-placed elbow.

"Hey, Samsquatch." His voice turned soft like he was talking to a spooked kid. "It's fine, you don't have to drink it from my neck like Dracula, or nothin'." He held up his hands, palms out, placating, taking a step nearer and smiling gently up at Sam. "We can just put some in a discreet little bottle and you can find a place to be alone and comfy and just take it from there. Yeah?" He put one hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam looked at him, for a long, long time. The lack of birdsong made his silence seem to go deeper. Lucifer tapped his foot against the concrete with a petulant groan.

Sam shrugged away from Gabriel, and nodded quickly. "Yeah, okay. I can do that. I can deal with that." He turned his back to them, hunching forward a little and staring off into the black trees.

Gabriel smiled and pulled a blue glass bottle from the air under his fingers, and it seemed black because it was full with thick blood that clutched at the meager sunlight still lingering and put it out in a soft yellowy glow—even through the dark glass.

He stepped up behind Sam, whispered, "Here you go, Gigantor." He slipped the vial into Sam's breast-pocket and snapped his fingers, and Sam was alone in the acrid breeze between an abandoned factory and an empty forest.

Sam looked down at his hands, eyes dragging across the faded scar that swept over his left palm.

"Thanks."


	8. Life is okay

July 2015:

Mary smiled around the kitchen, surveying the piles of food on the counter.

Maybe there was no more government, maybe the United States wasn't really a thing anymore, but...

Well no one could ever accuse the settlement of Medusa, Lebanon, Kansas, USA, population 20.5 plus two Hellhounds, of being un-patriotic. Ellen and Mary had put out 5 different fruit pies, Gabriel had made a brightly colored trifle, and Dean was outside with the grill, cooking up veggie burgers and rabbit, and their very own home-grown corn and squash and green beans.

The reason half of the meat was fake was that imitation meat stored a lot better than real meat, and they'd long since eaten their store-procured meats and had no means of procuring any new meat that would be edible other than the wild meat Benny brought back from his hunts—and most of that went only to Benny since he required it to survive. Veggie burgers and veggie dogs lasted at least twice as long so there were still some left, though they were mildly freezer-burned. Their little village was living an partially vegan life, having no access to cows for milk or animals for slaughter. What they could get was shelf-stable products such as soy and almond milk, certain frozen products, the vegetables and fruit they grew near the Reservoir, and other shelf-stable products like flour and jerky and canned goods.

Dean, John, Bobby, Cas and Jo had all been pretty miffed at the lack of steak and burgers and bacon, but were mollified with canned soups and beef jerky, and what little wild meat Benny would let them use.

Mary smiled to herself. She could just imagine John griping under his breath at the burgers blackening under Dean's watchful eye. He'd probably eat one just to make Sam happy, and he'd complain but Mary knew that he really didn't mind the taste so much as the idea of fake meat. Especially when Dean cooked it. Their boy could handle food surprisingly well considering no one had ever taught him.

She was so damn proud of those two.

Stopping the first apocalypse only to be thrown into a second apocalypse completely out of their realm to keep at bay, and surviving that, and helping their loved ones survive and dealing so well with everything God had thrown at them throughout their lives.

Strong young men.

Though, Mary guessed, Dean wasn't a young man anymore and even Sam was getting near middle age.

They would always be little boys in her heart though. Foul-mouthed, violent, sweet, strong, moronic little boys with smiles to light up the whole damn world.

She glanced at her charm bracelet, as she moved a strawberry pie to the table (Strawberries grew like weeds and she thanked the Lord every day for that.) There was a new charm on there. An anti-possession sigil Sam had made out of a tiny drawing, a piece of domed glass, and a metal backing. She grinned. "Mama's boys." Her voice was low, as she returned to the other pies—blueberry, apricot-raspberry, peach, and plum. (Vincent and Sam had spent a lot of time planting things in the past two years and they had a small farm on their hands. And everything grew amazingly well thanks to Gabriel's enchanted Reservoir.)

"Hey, Sweetcakes!"

Speak of the Devil.

"Yeah, Gabriel?" Mary smiled at the stout angel as he skipped into the kitchen.

He grinned right back at her, (and Mary could see why Sam liked to spend time with him. He was the perfect ray of sunlight for Sam's dreary thoughts!) and asked, "You seen my trifle?" He scanned over her shoulder.

"Other direction, hun." She nodded toward the counter just to his left, and he spun with a soft "oh."

Gabriel picked it up (it was a huge thing—strawberries, blueberries and peaches all mixed up with instant vanilla pudding and crumbled sugar cookies in a huge glass mixing bowl all done up to look pretty.) and winked at her with a "Thanks, Cupcake!" as he maneuvered out into the main area of the HQ.

Mary snorted to herself. That boy and his ridiculous nicknames. She thought they were kinda cute. Dean thought they were obnoxious. Sam acted like they annoyed him, but Mary had a feeling he liked having some nicknames just for him. Because Gabe occasionally recycled nicknames among most of the population, but the ones for Sam never got used on anyone else. She'd never heard him call anyone but Sam "Hot Stuff" or "Babycakes" or, her personal favorite, "Puddin' Pie." Never failed to make Mary giggle herself delirious, and it always got Gabe the best prissy glares.

Mary sighed happily.

It sucked that she only got this new chance at life because of the destruction of a large chunk of the world's population, but she really was glad to be alive again and fussing over her sons and husband, and baking pies and ganking rogue ghosts and scolding Crowley when he got a bit too handsy around Bobby.

She lived under the idea that they could all be much worse off, and she was content with how things were, for now.

She lifted an armful of potato salad and a watermelon and followed Gabriel's trail of fruit and chocolate wafting in from the outside, to join her family.


	9. Pretend like you know me

On the cusp of December 2013 and January 2014:

"Sam." Gabriel settled back against the headboard of the taller Winchester's bed, shifting his wings around to be comfortable. He patted the sheets with a raised eyebrow. Sam sighed and sat beside him.

"What, Gabe?" Sam looked at him nervously. When Gabriel called Sam by his name instead of something stupid, he knew something had to be up. Probably something serious.

Gabriel smiled tightly. "How're you holdin' out, kiddo?"

Okay so not as serious as Sam was initially led to believe.

"I'm okay." It wasn't a lie, either. Sam was alright, considering he was going through a mild withdrawal from Archangel blood.

There was no help for it at all, though, since not a single damn angel had their former power anymore. (And Gabriel made sure everyone knew how much that annoyed him.) He had a tiny bit of blood left at the bottom of a bottle, tempting. He limited himself to as little as possible when he got shaky and weak, but tried to quit completely. But Archangel blood was like Demon blood.

He needed it.

But it really wasn't an option anymore.

Some of Lucifer's and Gabriel's current, impressively less powerful blood was mixed in as well to help wean Sam off of his addiction and it was alright.

Everything was just okay.

Sam smiled down at Gabriel's skeptical frown. "Really, Gabe. I've been a lot worse." That was true. "I hardly even want it." That was a lie.

Gabriel shrugged, getting settled somewhat. His fingers brushed against the side of Sam's hand. He tapped one of his knuckles, and looked up with a small grin. "Who'd have thought Sam Winchester would be the druggie of the family?" His smile was crooked and teasing, and Sam had to smile back, even though the little jab made him want to give Gabriel the cold shoulder. (But how could he brush off such an open expression?)

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dick." He leaned his head back against the wall, tracing his eyes along patterns in the ceiling.

"You love me."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, right." He crossed his arms. "'Cause you're so appealing to me." He cracked one eye open to smirk at Gabriel's affronted expression.

Gabriel sat up straighter, leaning somewhat away from the headboard and raising a knee to rest his arm on. "Don't even pull that, Tarzan." He raised both of his eyebrows for emphasis. "I happen to know you have a _thang_ for snarky women who are half your size and dangerous." He snorted. "And don't think I don't know what you got up to in college, Mr. Oh-so-pure."

Sam glared at him. "Shut up." He huffed, avoiding Gabriel's eyes. "And, Dude, if you know what I did in college, then you really need to... like... straighten out your priorities." He leered at the ceiling fan. "You are right, though. I'm not quite as innocent as my dad seems to think I am."

Gabriel let out a strangled giggle, pressing his forehead against his knee. He stared incredulously at Sam. "Really, Samuel? I thought was swingin' pretty wide with the college part!" He moved so he was laying on his stomach, lifting his wings up partially to stretch, brushing one against Sam's face.

Sam pushed his wing out of the way with an amused grunt. "Yeah, well." He stood up, stretching tall so his fingertips brushed the ceiling and his shirt rode up somewhat. "Maybe I'm a sick bastard and no one even realizes how kinky I am."

"Oh Lordy, tell me all the juicy details."

Sam threw his head back with a laugh. "Yeah right." He pointed at Gabriel. "You are probably the _last_ person I'd ever tell about my sex life, other than my parents and Dean."

Gabriel feigned hurt. "You'd rather tell Benny about your sexual escapades than me?!" He threw an arm over his eyes dramatically, rolling to his side. "I'm wounded, Samwich!"

"I'm sure you're offended but you might want to be careful before you fall—"

Gabriel hit the floor with a thud and a muffled curse. He scrambled to his feet as Sam laughed at him, flipped him the bird and grumbled, "A quicker warning woulda been _great_, you overgrown child."

"Look who's talking!"

Gabriel looked down at himself, and shrugged. He smirked at Sam and sidled over. "I'm a Trickster though. I have an excuse."

Sam snorted and swatted him away. "Whatever. Get out of my room. I wanna sleep and I can't do it if you're creeping on me all night."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya!" Gabriel tucked his wings in close, backing out the door.

"Goodnight, Gabe." Sam smiled and waved, and shut the door in Gabriel's face.

Gabriel huffed. "G'night, you perverted sonnuvabitch." His voice was sing-songy and light.

"Gabe! Shut up!" Sam's voice was muffled but clear.

"Keep your panties on, Samerella!" Gabriel walked down the hall with a quiet chuckle.

Gabriel smiled to himself and made his way into the library, to read until he wound down enough to fall asleep in a chair with his face planted in an old copy of _Frankenstein_.


	10. Icarus

May 2015:

"Really, Little Brother?" Michael sighed and closed his book in exasperation. He looked up at Lucifer standing on a rickety picnic table pumping his wings up and down. "You haven't made it off the ground that way even one time. Give up." He eyed Lucifer testily.

Lucifer pulled a face. "I like the feeling!" He pulled at an out-of-place feather—inky blue-black with startlingly red bars at the tip—and rolled his shoulders. Another flap of his wings.

Michael rolled his eyes and some of Adam slipped through his expression (much less patient and much more petulant). "Your wings are too huge to even pretend you can get into the air from the ground." He spread his arms wide. "Or have you not seen yourself in the past year? You barely fit through the door with them folded!" He rubbed a hand over his mouth, raising his eyebrows.

Lucifer snorted. "Yeah, whatever." He jumped off the table and made his way to the chair Michael had perched in. He leaned close to his older brother to hiss in his ear, "I just like to feel powerful, sometimes, Michael." He leaned back on his heels, and glared down his nose. "You of all people should know how _restricted_ I feel, now." He laughed, bitter and low. "I'd almost prefer being the Pit again."

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Lucifer held his hand out to shush him. He shook his head at Michael, smiled, and walked away, with his wings stretched out wide as they would go to catch the air and brush on whatever they would, and tamped down in his own mind and body, Adam thought Michael's brother looked so very small now, pinned in the center of nearly fifty feet of feathers.

Michael heard Adam's musing, in the space they shared, and hummed in agreement. Lucifer always acted cheerful, always pestered Michael (or Adam, depending on who was in control), always leered and cackled and teased the Winchesters.

But maybe, just maybe, Lucifer wasn't as okay as he acted.

He was almost as good at hiding his emotions as Gabriel. Almost. (No one could beat that closed-up Trickster in regards to blanketing true feelings.)

Michael and Adam sighed together, and they stood, to walk after their stubborn younger brother, to make peace with him for another day and to pull him back from being foolish and reaching out too close to the sun in his attempts to be strong and feel power again.

They didn't want him to become Icarus all over again, after all.


	11. Go back to sleep

Late November 2013:

"Go back to sleep, Mom." Kevin placed his hand—gloved in black—over his mother's small fingers, mostly trying to comfort himself.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a baby." But she laid back down to appease him, though she felt a little trapped in the small warded room, when she couldn't even see her son's face because he was covered head to toe in protective gear. She sighed at him, and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Kevin hunched his shoulders.

Ms. Tran smiled at him.

She knew she wasn't going to last longer than twenty-four hours, and Kevin knew that too, but they could at least pretend to be hopeful.

Even though there were all sorts of symbols scrawled in the room and outside of the door, and between this room and the rest of the HQ were doors and doors, all of them warded, and all of them sanitized constantly, and there was what amounted to a miniature hand-made carwash at the final door as well as a shower and an impromptu airlock.

Amazing what Ash could do, even after the apocalypse.

She felt trapped but she'd rather be a mouse in a cage than get everyone else sick.

Except that bastard Crowley. He could crawl into a hole and die for all she cared. She didn't even know why they let him stay, considering all the bullshit he'd pulled before the world went to Hell.

Ms. Tran sat up a little, shushing Kevin's fussing and pulling him into a tight hug. "You're so special, Kevin."

"Mom," Kevin wrapped his arms tight around her. "Please don't talk like you're gonna die."

She laughed. "Whatever you say, dummy."

They sat like that for awhile.

All night, actually.

Kevin didn't sleep all night, and he didn't cry.

He just held his mama in his arms until Chuck came to get him out of the way so that the Winchesters could burn her body.


	12. Nothin' wrong with it

June 2014:

"Goddammit!" Bobby turned his back to the group of angels sitting in the dusty grass, pulling the brim of his cap down to shield his eyes somewhat from the harsh sun. "Put some clothes on, Girl!" He shuffled awkwardly.

Ana scowled, letting her wings drift aimlessly to catch the slightly metallic breeze snuffling along the grass. "I _already_ have clothes on!" She elbowed Gabriel, who snickered beside her.

Bobby snorted. "A pair of shorts and nothin' else ain't clothes." He turned around to face the angels again, but pointedly looked anywhere but Ana's torso.

Ellen walked out of the Batcave and smacked Bobby upside the head with a book on her way past. "Leave her alone, you old geezer." She tossed the book toward Gabriel, and he caught it with ease and an exaggerated wink.

"Her... endowments... are hangin' out, Woman!" Bobby stamped after Ellen with a huff, picking up one of the propane tanks she was unloading from Garth's Tahoe. "Ain't decent!"

Ellen rolled her eyes at him, shoving a boxed-up set of knives into his arms. "You're a damn idiot." She glanced over at Ana and her brothers, none of whom seemed to care that Ana had her chest bared to the sun, a discarded apron laying at her feet. Ellen raised an eyebrow at Bobby pointedly. "It doesn't bother her, and it don't bother no one else but you and your dumbass alpha male cronies." She smiled sternly, then barked, "_Sam_!"

Sam shot up from his spot with the angels, looking for all the world like a puppy about to get chained to a tree.

"You care about Ana's boobs hangin' out?" Ellen gestured vaguely.

Sam crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. "Um. Not really? I mean..." He shrugged smoothly. "It was a little... _different_ at first but it's not really a big deal. It's hot out." He sat down again, and Ana grinned at him as her and Gabriel resumed their conversation, with Lucifer occasionally butting in or drifting his wings over Sam's back, and Michael lounging with his head under a picnic table. Ellen shook her head, smiling.

"See? Sam don't care." Ellen tugged Bobby toward the door to the Batcave.

"Sam's a damn hippie." Bobby grumbled.

Sam raised his middle finger cheerily at Bobby, laughing at something ridiculous Gabriel whispered in his ear.

Ellen grumbled under her breath and shoved Bobby inside. "You're a moron."


	13. Personal Jesus

June 2013: Several days after Armageddon and the end of WWIII:

"No, dude, why the fuck did you guys come to _us_?"

Dean threw his arms wide and low, supplicating, like a religious figure.

Gabriel eyed him testily from where he sprawled across the hood of the Impala—where he had appeared almost immediately after they had dragged the remnants of their group back to Lebanon. Lucifer snorted, leaning against the door. Dean raised his eyebrows.

Adam stepped forward—but... no, it wasn't Adam. It was Michael in his body. He held his hand up and spoke soft, calm. "Because we had nowhere else to go and knew you would be alive. We tracked Castiel." Ana nodded behind him, her arms crossed, looking uncomfortable.

Dean opened his mouth, but closed it, thinking better of whatever foul thing that bubbled up on his tongue. He scraped a hand across his face. The handprint on his arm throbbed. Felt like thunder was coming on. "Yeah, okay." He puffed out a sigh. "Cas?"

Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, giving him an earnest—if somewhat baffled—look, and they stared at each other for several seconds like they could communicate without words, somehow. Eventually Dean nodded, clapped Cas on the back. "Okay, Buddy. You wanna go help Sammy wash his hands and maybe make sure he doesn't have a panic attack or something?"

Castiel frowned. "Alright, Dean, but I really doubt he's in danger of—"

"Cas." Eyebrows raised and clearly false smile pasted. "The grownups need to talk, okay, Cas?"

Cas glared at him, as Meg took his arm. "C'mon Clarence. He's bein' extra douchey today."

"Clearly." Cas rolled his eyes and followed her around to the back of the abandoned building that overshadowed the doorway of the Batcave, to find Sam, help him clean Ruby's blood from his clothes.

Dean rubbed his mouth. "So, what the fuck is going on?" He shoved Gabriel to sit beside him on the Impala. "There were bombs, according to the news before, but none near here, and that does not explain why a bunch of angels, demons and dead people suddenly showed up out of nowhere only to have most of them die again almost immediately." He caught Gabriel's eye. "So what is this?"

Gabriel laughed bitterly. He raised his gaze to the murky heavens, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back against the windshield. "Well, apparently someone decided it would be really dandy to forcibly expel everyone who'd died in the past ten years into Kansas—of all places—along with some angels and demons and shit here and there who hitched a ride on some souls." At that, he threw a searing smile toward Lucifer and Adam—no, Michael. "Right, Luci?" A threat lay clearly underneath the false cheer of his voice. A challenge.

Lucifer smirked. "Well, it was too good a chance to pass up, and hey it's not like I'm gonna do much at this point. The world has already gone through its own little self-fabricated apocalypse." He shook his head. "You dumb, frantic animals..." His voice dropped lower. "Breaking your own laws just for a political leg up."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever." He closed his eyes briefly, then frowned. "Wait, what? Self-fabricated? Dude, Heaven and Hell practically exploded onto our doorstep. We didn't do that." He squinted. "Breaking _what_ laws?"

Lucifer let loose a thick guffaw, arms crossed and held at the elbows. "Trust me, dead people being brought to life, while not a cakewalk, would not screw the world so much." He gnawed on his lip with a strangely pleased expression. "There were quite a few bombs—some atomic and some not—which has really fucked with the atmosphere, lemme tell you."

"Atomic? You're telling me that—that even after World War II, someone thought it would be a good idea to just drop an A-bomb?" Dean gaped.

"I'm not finished speaking." Lucifer waved his hand and Dean snorted, when his jaw clamped tight against his will. Lucifer smiled. "Better. Anyway, yeah. Atomic bombs, normal bombs. Whatever. Oh also someone decided to break the biggest, baddest law in the UN."

Dean pulled a face. Tilted his head questioningly.

Lucifer leered at him. "You ever heard of the Biological Weapons Convention?"

Dean shook his head.

"Well in the 70's, biological warfare was outlawed for multiple reasons." He waggled his eyebrows, leaning close, as if he were telling some juicy secret, a hand to his chin. "And just guess what someone decided to ignore?"

Dean frowned. He raised his eyebrows.

"Bingo!" Gabriel slapped him on the shoulder. "Some asshole decided to plant a disease that spreads through blood, semen, and oh yeah—sweat. It's like a germ and a virus rolled into one. It spreads by touch and it doesn't show symptoms and it kills humans within a week."

Dean widened his eyes at them. His jaw finally loosened at the snap of a finger from Gabe and he hissed a low, "_What_?" He ran his hands through his hair, agitated. "Fucking seriously? Then how do we-?"

"Protect yourselves?"

Dean nodded fiercely.

Gabriel slithered off of the car, and clasped his hands over his head, stretching. "Well, you're in luck." He grinned disconcertingly wide. "No one in your little group is infected. Yet." He spun around and threw his arms out like the Savior and raised his voice. "So what me and my bros are gonna do is make this place as safe as possible, and instruct you dummies on how to survive this whole Armageddon thing!"

Dean frowned deeply, crossing his arms. His expression grew suspicious. "Why would you help us? Especially you, Lucifer." He nodded in Lucifer's direction, eyes hard.

Lucifer snorted, casually flipping Dean his middle finger. "Always one to look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?" He sidled close, pressing up against Dean's side. Whispered, hoarse, "Maybe, since we're stuck on this ball of mud, we'd rather stay with someone who offers a modicum of entertainment, hmm?" His expression was a mocking sort of sweet, and his teeth flashed white with a smile. "We're gonna help you guys out, and you guys are gonna accept our help, and let us stay here without killing us." Lucifer's breath was warm on Dean's face, and Dean glowered at him, keeping eye contact.

Finally, Dean rolled his eyes and twisted away. "Fine. Okay?" He raised his hands, palms out, placating. "Fine."

He sighed heavily, and kicked at a loose rock by his foot. "What's the plan, then?" He glanced between them. They all stood still for a few moments.

"No plan?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking." Gabriel kicked him in the back of the knee. He bit at his lip and bit lightly at the tips of his fingers. He looked up with a glint in his eyes. "We need to be thorough." He clicked his teeth together thoughtfully. "It's doubtful there's any running water, and if it is running it's probably full of debris, possibly disease, probably other things. Almost every big city I can feel has been completely wiped out—little or no life is left. The disease probably spread fairly quickly. You guys are lucky because you stayed out here, away from people for the most part, and in a small town." He paused to clasp his hands against his mouth. A cutting glance around him. "Electricity won't be a problem."

Dean opened his mouth to ask how on earth that could be a non-issue but Gabriel glared him down.

"Your guy Ash is taking care of that as we speak. He moves fast. He's using several generators and a temporary energy source until he can get the supplies he needs to make a more permanent fixture." Gabriel closed his eyes. "The water technically still runs clean but not for long. We need to disconnect the plumbing here and reroute it to something..." His eyes flashed open and he grinned. "I know what we do first. Gather everyone."

"Wha—" Dean frowned, but the look Lucifer leveled at him made him nod enthusiastically and leave, to gather the others.

Later they all stood in a clear space behind the headquarters. It was walled on one side by rocks, and on another by trees that were already showing signs of a failure to thrive, and one more side was shadowed by the building atop the Batcave. The fourth side was open to the long stretch of dying grass parallel to the forest. If Dean had to guess the size of the clearing, all dirt and yellow grass and rocks, he'd say it was roughly the size of a football field.

Their congregation was roughly 21 people—22 if Michael's soul was included. There was a clear divide, as the humans held back from Meg and Crowley (and Dean wanted to know what jackass thought it would be a good idea to take them in) with Mrs. Tran clutching Kevin to her side. Dean rolled his eyes. Their group was fucking strange and he would be amazed if they survived without killing each other. Gabriel elbowed him, hissing, "That's the spirit, Deano!"

Dean glared at him. "Dude, don't read my mind!"

Gabriel raised one mocking eyebrow. "Well sorry, but maybe try broadcasting it less."

Dean just gave him an unamused stare.

Gabriel clapped his hands. "Hey there, everybody!" He grinned wide and wiggled his fingers in a wave, sucking on a lollipop. "As you all are aware, the world is kind of screwed right now so me and my bros figured, 'hey, why not help some nice Hunters out, huh?' sooo that's why you're here." He bit into his candy and continued to speak. "We wanna make sure everyone knows what's going on. Ash is taking care of electricity so no worries there, but me and my brothers are gonna help with the whole 'potable water' thing, so, we wanna make sure you know what's goin' down."

"So what exactly _is_ goin' down, Boy? Or are ya gonna talk all day? Bobby looked beyond irritated.

A flash of annoyance flickered through Gabriel's eyes, but he just laughed. "We're gonna snap you guys up a nice water source! One that'll stick around for a long time." He winked. "Just in case."

Dean saw his little brother frown, clearly wondering "in case of what?" Dean opted to worry about that later. For now he turned to Gabriel. "So, what, an eternal tap?"

Gabriel snorted. Lucifer spoke up behind him. "Kind of. We're going to fabricate a reservoir, yes, and attach it to the plumbing of this place. We're also going to divert an underground spring to help feed the reservoir, and place a layer of Grace over the entire thing to keep it clean and protect it from interference. And don't worry about waste removal or anything like that, we've got you covered so you won't have to do a thing." He crossed his arms, eyeing the crowd, leering at anyone who dared make eye contact. "So you little insects can just sit back and watch." He turned his back to them, and pressed close to Adam-who-was-actually-Michael to whisper something into his ear. Gabriel rolled his eyes at whatever they said and dragged them to sit on the ground.

There was the occasional whisper between the three Archangels. Many prolonged, too-intent stares. Nothing seemed to be happening, but their eyes glowed, and it seemed as if their skin, also, was brighter than skin had a right to be. A weird golden... feeling... almost not something seen with the eyes but seen with the soul... surrounded them. It was something Dean had never experienced before and he wondered, looking around at the people in medical masks and with handkerchiefs to their faces, if it was due to the gritty air.

Then there was a slow rumble, gentle and natural, deep through the ground and their bones. The grass rustled, growing brighter in color, and everything within the clearing seemed damper. Castiel and Ana drifted somewhat closer, eyes half closed, focused on the earth beneath their feet. Meg dropped to her knees, and Crowley shivered visibly, looking put off. Benny sidled wordlessly to Dean, a little further from the angels, and Dean nodded at him. The humans were reverent, but in their usual mortal way.

Dean could taste a clean tang on the still air, coming up from beneath his feet.

The rumble ceased.

Gabriel smiled, and his smile was not like the ones he usually wore. The smile was like those in Renaissance paintings. "Beatific." Suited to an Archangel of the Lord. Beside him, Lucifer's expression was serene, but held no emotions. Michael's too. Strange shapes built from light wrapped around them and danced and dipped, like a miniature, transparent Aurora in gold and pink and indigo and blue and crimson and silver.

Michael leaned forward, pressing his palm to the ground, and water pooled out underneath his fingertips as white stone pierced between blades of grass.

In that way that was materialization, something you didn't even notice happening, a deep marble reservoir lined with what looked like, of all things, turquoise, made its presence known. It wasn't a sudden thing. One minute there was nothing, and the next... A strangely religious-looking pool existed as if it has always been, filled with shockingly clear water. The grass at its edge was slick and vibrant and thick.

"What the fuck..." Dean let it out as a breath.

Gabriel's head snapped up and he pointed. "Way to ruin the moment, dickweed." Dean stuck his tongue out and heard Sam snort behind him.

Dean flipped Sam the bird and walked to the edge of the reservoir, which was embedded into the ground like some fountains he had seen, or a pool, and gave off some air of magic. He nodded. Right, they'd thrown some Grace on the thing.

Behind him, the others approached as well.

Lucifer and Michael teleported themselves (or whatever it was that got them from one place to another) to stand beside Castiel and Anael, but Gabriel opted to stand and physically walk across the water, with a wink to Sam, whose face showed an amusing mix of awe and irritation.

Dean rolled his eyes when he heard his brother mutter, "Wow, it's beautiful," to Gabriel. Gabriel grinned lewdly at him.

Before Gabriel could possibly say anything that deserved a fist to the face, Dean blurted, "Neat trick."

Gabriel smirked at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Christ thought so too."

Dean glared at him.

Sam made that face. The one that made him look like a dying fish.

Everyone else was silent as Lucifer laughed violently, and Gabriel winked at Dean, and then at Sam in a much less wholesome way, before he disappeared with a rustle of feathers.

Dean sighed.

Dealing with these assholes was gonna be _great_.


	14. Petrichor

{expect sabriel feelings}

**August 2014:**

Sam frowned softly, looking up from his copy of _Le Petit Prince_. He folded the corner of his page down and unfolded himself from the cramped position he had taken up in one of the chairs in the library. Something was off. The air was different. He looked toward the ceiling, toward the soft _tap tap tap_.

"Gabe..."

He pushed lightly at Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel looked up from his book with an exasperated expression. "What is it, Kiddo? I'm reading." He twisted his licorice and met Sam's small smile with amusement. "What?"

Sam nodded toward the door. "It's raining." He grinned and it seemed... shy. "D'you wanna go outside?"

Gabriel stared for several breaths, watching Sam's eager fidgeting. Then he laughed, and set his book on the table, not bothering to mark his page. "You're like a puppy." He shook his head, stood, and grabbed Sam's wrist. "C'mon then, Boy!" He winked at Sam, who pursed his lips but didn't really mind being made fun of by Gabriel. (If it had been anyone else Sam probably would have leveled the death glare on them.) He just huffed out a half-annoyed breath of laughter and shrugged into a jacket on the way out.

The sky pulsed dark and bruised—clean shades of purple and gray that hadn't been seen in Medusa for a while. The rain made a smear of the clouds on the horizon and sighed down lightly but steadily, drawing a wet shine over their surroundings. It wasn't cold. Very damp, the air somewhat thick, but at least 60 degrees, if not more. The raindrops streamed warmly down Sam's face, pulling his hair into twisted strands dripping and clinging to his skin within a minute. Gabriel laughed at him when he shook his head like a dog, and Sam shoved at his arm playfully. "Shut up." He looked away down the road, his expression calm and pleased.

Gabriel tilted his head, fanning his wings out wide as they would go and letting the rain roll across his feathers. The heavy purpley white sunshine splitting from behind the clouds caught at the colors in his wings and glinted them vibrantly so that he sparkled when he shrugged the water off. Sam stared contentedly at the play of light and shadows across Gabriel's body and chuckled very quietly.

"What?" Gabriel lifted one wing up just as a blue bolt trickled across the sky, and the bright illumination from the lightning zinged across his feathers intensely, flashing. Gabriel smirked. "You think they're pretty." It wasn't a question at all. A low grumble rolled across Lebanon, rattling the chains on the nearby picnic table.

Sam shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets and turning his face up into the rain. "Maybe." He closed his eyes and it almost seemed like he might be praying, the way he stood.

Gabriel stared at Sam, and Sam stood still like that, for a long time. More lightning scratched its way through the clouds and the thunder filled the air with a near-constant thrum of noise.

Sam shed his jacket after a while, letting it drop to the mud. The hairs on his bare arms stood up, and his burgundy colored v-neck was soon soaked, looking near black with the weight of the rain. He gestured to Gabriel. Gabriel blinked and shook a veritable waterfall from his wings before approaching, a question in his eyes.

Sam smiled. His hair clung to his face, and he pushed some strands back out of his eyes as he said, "You look... right... out here." He motioned limply to his surroundings. "In the rain."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, grinning. "And you're a dork."

Sam huffed. "I'm serious." He threw a glance around at the soaked scenery of Lebanon, Kansas, where it hadn't rained in months due to location and the climate change that had set in during the War and especially so after the Grand Rapture. He hoped for no flash floods, but figured that one might happen anyhow. Not easy to leach water into a ground so dried out. Luckily they were slightly elevated. He hummed tunelessly to himself—a little buzz in his throat just to make a noise.

Gabriel tapped him on the side of the head with the wrist area of his wing—the final bend before his pinions—and Sam laughed, pushing the feathers out of his face. Gabriel smirked, quirking his eyebrows, stilling his wing and letting it rest partially open, wrapped loosely around Sam's torso with the primaries brushing the mud. Sam let his fingers linger on the curve of his wing, feeling the way the rainwater changed the texture of the feathers.

They stared at each other, amused and dripping, until Gabriel broke the silence with a rustle of wet fabric and wings and a muttered, "We keep staring like this, we'll turn into our brothers." He pulled a face.

Sam laughed loudly, pushing his fingers through his hair until it was slicked back with rain. He shook his head. "God, I hope not." He looked up at the building towering over the entrance to the headquarters. Down to the brick and steel huts off near the trees, wide and dirty and one guarded by two massively horrifying dogs—currently asleep, thankfully. The curtains were drawn in the demons' hut, and Sam wondered what Crowley and Meg were up to. If he had to guess he'd say Crowley was sleeping and Meg was probably on her Gameboy. He glanced to the angels' little home. He could see the silhouette of Adam's body in the window, almost definitely reading a book. He looked up, and started somewhat. Lucifer was sitting on the tin roof, wings out wide and dwarfing the small house below him, with his face turned up to the sky, completely still.

Gabriel plucked at the hem of Sam's shirt. Sam looked back at him curiously, and Gabriel tilted his head toward the wall that hid the Reservoir from the road. Sam nodded.

They made their way to the back of the building slowly, slipping between some bushes and bricks, stopping at the edge of the deep pool. The peach trees they'd planted the previous year bore blossoms—pale, somewhat small and sad blossoms hanging from still thin branches, but flowers nonetheless. The rain whispered through their leaves. Sam smiled at the thin little border. He looked forward to the day the trees grew mature enough to start providing fruit. Canned peaches, after all, were not particularly appetizing.

Gabriel tugged Sam right up to the Reservoir, pressing in between two thin trunks so the toes of their shoes brushed the marble edging. The surface of the water was entirely ripples, and it seemed to Sam that they were each lined with a dim golden light but it might have merely been from the muddled sunlight. In any case, it was beautiful, and the air felt cleaner here, with the scent of peach blossoms sighing around them and the softness of Grace-cleansed rain sluicing at the grimier wetness on their clothes and skin. It just felt... safer.

Gabriel pulled him by the hand until they were walking the perimeter of the pool, toward a thick tree that had been nearly dead last year but now was healthy and dark, broad leaves trembling under the rain's weight. The tree's branches created an overhang of sorts—almost like a twisted wooden cave—and it was there that Gabriel drew Sam, dragging him down to settle into the warm, damp space.

Sam found it surprisingly comfortable. Gabriel shifted his wings behind him for several moments until one was tucked close to his back and the other wrapped out around Sam to hold him close and dip the flight feathers into the Reservoir. Sam leaned against him with a smile and roll of his eyes.

Sam must have dozed off.

He blinked his eyes with a yawn, unfolding his legs. Gabriel's face was pressed against his chest, and Sam laughed—quietly, though. Didn't want to wake him. He adjusted his arm, which had somehow wrapped around Gabe's waist, and moved his weight off of the angel's wing. He would bet that Gabriel would be complaining the second he woke up. No way his wing _wasn't_ half-numb, if Sam's guess about the time of day was right.

Clear, darkening sky. Streaks of a plummy color with splashes of a crystal kind of blue, all smearing into indigo. Several stars blinked dully down through the thin haze that blanketed the heavens and horizon.

Sam smiled.

This was nice—watching the sun set from a soft shelter in the trees, with Gabriel nestled into him—vulnerable. He trusted Sam. That... That was good. That made Sam thrum happily, ducking his head to smile at his rather short friend.

"Stop moving, jackass..." Gabriel mumbled quietly, reaching a hand up to pat at Sam's cheek. A parody of a slap. Sam snorted, jostling Gabe further. Gabriel frowned deeply and opened one eye to direct a baleful glare up at Sam. "Samuel Winchester, I swear to my Father—"

Sam grinned widely at him and Gabriel shut his mouth with a subtle pout. He sat up straighter, rubbing the side of his face where Sam's shirt had left red creases. "Ugh I'm all damp." He shrugged his shoulders, pulling his left wing back in slowly, grimacing at the tingling sensation that, no doubt, ran up and down its length. "Did you have to sleep _on_ my wing, you big behemoth?"

Sam chuckled, bumping his fist against Gabe's arm. "Dude, you're the one who put it there!" He raised his eyebrows.

Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes in such an exaggerated fashion that Sam had to bite back a laugh. He pulled slightly away from Gabriel, shivering as his the patch of his shirt that hadn't been able to dry caught the lukewarm air and sent goosebumps up his side. He reached up to card his hand through his now-tangled but mostly dry hair. "We've been out for a while, huh?"

Gabriel leveled an unamused glare at him. "Gee, ya think?"

Sam snorted into his fist. "_Someone's_ grumpy." He winked at Gabe.

Gabriel sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes with a groan. "I don't do well with naps in trees, with Bigfoot crushing my wing. _Sorry_." He sounded to be in a fairly bad mood, but there was a note of amusement and contentment in his eyes.

Sam smiled down at him—the smile he knew made Gabriel blush—and moved out from under the tree's shelter, pulling Gabe up by his wrist so that they stood as one, and he pulled Gabriel close so they lined up against each other from head to toe. The water behind them hissed gently under the mild breeze. Sam slid his fingers down to catch Gabe's smaller hand in his own. He raised his eyebrows, with a teasing smirk.

"I guess that means no more midday escapes." He leaned down, to whisper in Gabriel's ear, "That's too bad."

Gabe blushed visibly in the dying light, throwing Sam a nonchalant shrug. "Didn't say that..." He smirked then, and met Sam's eyes. "It's not so bad with you there. Even if you cut off the circulation to my wing." He waggled his eyebrow in a show of suspicious confidence.

Sam pulled a disbelieving face. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel to pull him tighter, feeling feathers brush softly on the bare skin of his arms, and pressed his face into Gabe's hair with a deep breath. "Sure." He laughed.

Gabriel's eyes widened. He flailed his arms about uncertainly before finally opting to settled them around Sam's waist. "Are you drunk, or something?" At Sam's violent snort of laughter, he huffed, looking off to the stars peeking into existence. "I'm serious, Sam! This is a bit beyond flirting!" He bit his lip, leaning his cheek on Sam's shoulder. "But don't stop. You're warm."

Sam laughed, and Gabriel felt it rattle through his body. Lightheadedness threatened him, vague in the tips of his fingers and his temples. He fastened his hands in Sam's shirt and tightened his arms. "Don't tease me."

Sam was silent for a while. They stood wrapped up in each other for at least a minute, probably longer, until finally Sam's voice, low and thoughtful, came out with, "I'm not teasing you. Not that you don't _deserve_ it!" He pulled away somewhat to look Gabe in the eyes. He wore an expression that made Gabriel feel like he might pass out. Or barf. Or maybe both. Swoon, perhaps.

"I'm a Trickster! _Was_ a Trickster. It was my job." He fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable, even with Sam's hands planted on his shoulders.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he still smiled, so Gabe didn't worry. "Yeah, okay."

Gabriel frowned down at his feet.

"Hey, man, don't sulk!" Sam slid one hand under Gabriel's chin, tilting his head up easily. "Smile for me." His grin was kind and wide and dimpled and Gabe had to return it—He didn't even smirk.

Sam's breath hitched. Clearly he hadn't expected a real smile. He blushed and darted his eyes away before looking back, licking his lips. Before either of them really became aware of what had happened, they found their mouths pressed together—barely touching, light and damp.

Sam pulled away, looked to the side, into the trees, and rubbed his hands on his jeans before shoving them into his pockets. "Sorry." He bounced awkwardly on his feet.

Gabe kept silent, waiting several seconds before stepping forward and pulling Sam down for another kiss, opting not to attempt to use words to convey his emotions. (He was almost as bad at talking about his feelings as Dean.)

Sam smiled against Gabriel's lips and held his face in his hands.

Gabriel hummed happily.

Maybe this whole post-apocalypse thing wasn't so bad.


	15. Keep your enemies close

**October 2014:**

"Could you, perhaps, turn down the volume on that infernal contraption?" Crowley looked over the edge of his journal, tapping the tip of the pencil impatiently against the paper.

Meg raised her eyebrows, fiddling at the buttons on her Gameboy. He stuck her tongue out thoughtfully, humming as if she had to come up with a difficult answer. "Nah." She grinned. Pressed something and swore.

Crowley let out a long-suffering sigh. "I swear..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood, taking his little book with him as he went outside to sit at the picnic table—he grumbled the entire way. Ignoring the unwashed masses of this pathetic settlement whilst writing in his book was by far the most irritating and difficult thing to do. He missed the days when he could just snap away somewhere secluded or cause people to explode.

The seat was hard and cold from the chill of late October. Thankfully, most of the residents were inside their domiciles and rooms. However—and wasn't this just Crowley's luck—Lucifer stood a small ways off, bafflingly shirtless, flexing his wings and standing on top of Singer's truck.

The gale Lucifer sent up ruffled the leaves of Crowley's book. Crowley groaned, and pressed the pages down carefully, scritching away with a worn down pencil, studiously ignoring the Fallen angel.

Crowley made lists.

His current list spanned two pages so far, sprawling toward a third. He listed out every word he could think of meaning "happy."

Cheerful, merry, _ureshii_, chipper, pleased, _beatus_, content, mirthful, peppy, joyful, glad, delighted, _joyeux_, overjoyed, _glücklich_, gay, and on and on and on in any language he could think of, in any way he could think of. The list before it counted out types of birds as they began to thrive once more, and the one before that? License plate numbers from abandoned cars.

The listing relaxed him, focused him, let him forget about everything temporarily.

"What are you writing?"

Crowley closed his eyes. He pressed his book closed, setting his pencil down on the picnic table. "Nothing of your concern, Lucifer." He smiled tight.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows, and made a disdainful noise in his throat. But he backed away and walked in the general direction of the Reservoir.

Crowley let out a loose sigh.

He hated living in Medusa.


End file.
